


They loved.

by hiddenbookshop



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drabble, F/M, Fluff, Patronus, dramione - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-23
Updated: 2016-01-23
Packaged: 2018-05-15 15:31:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5790877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hiddenbookshop/pseuds/hiddenbookshop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Small collection of Harry Potter drabbles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Better Than This

The sight before her was definitely not one she would have ever expected. Never in a million years would she have though to walk out of her Floo to find Draco Malfoy, reformed Death Eater, Slytherin Prince, and closet chocolate addict, sleeping soundly on her couch. He hadn’t even bothered to remove his expensive Italian shoes. Toeing off her own pumps, Hermione crept closer.

The flat was dark except for the soft light of a table lamp. The light smoothed the Slytherin’s sharp features and the slight purse of his lips was adorably childlike. His distinct Malfoy blonde mop lay tousled in a way that made Hermione’s fingers itch to run through it. She didn’t dare though. She had learned from their stay at Order headquarters that he was a very defensive sleeper. The slightest sound, movement, or touch would have him alert and on his feet, wand drawn and ready. With that thought fresh in her mind she sat slowly and soundlessly onto the coffee tables edge. Draco’s breaths were deep with slumber. As admittedly adorable as the sleeping snake looked, her curiosity got the better of her. Making sure she was out of arms reach, she whispered.

“Draco?” Sharp grey eyes snapped to hers instantly but he made no other move.

“Draco? Is everything alright?” With a groan he brought his palms up to rub his face roughly.

“Everything’s fine. “ He grumbled, throwing his arm over his face. Hermione grinned at his sleepy display.

“Then why, dear Draco, are you on the couch? I thought Malfoy’s didn’t sleep on couches?” She smirked when he shot her a glare from the shadow of his arm.

“I’ve been booted from the bed by a hellish gang of small children.” He pouted.

The Gryffindor couldn’t help the laugh that escaped her lips, earning her another glare.  
It had been the annual Final Battle Memorial Ball. Hermione, Ron, Harry, along with the boy’s wives, Lavender and Ginny, had been guilted into attending every year by the shameless Hogwarts Headmistress. Over the years following the fall of Voldemort, the Trio had adopted a few of Slytherin into their rag-tag group. Hermione had shoved Draco into all of their outings, refusing to let him wallow in the aftermath of a war they were too young to have fought. He, in turn, dragged along Theo Nott and a very flirty Blaise Zabini.

It played out well that the guys were around. Blaise had recently begun working with Luna Lovegood at the Quibbler. Surprisingly, the former snake had a knack for happening upon strange creatures. Perhaps even more surprising was that Theo had hit it off with his own Weasley and the two had eloped to Romania. The red head did have a penchant for collecting wild things. Now Charlie had his dragons and his Slytherin.

The Golden Trio’s yearly memorial ball appearance had left the families in need of childcare. With half the Wizarding World attending, Theo off on his honeymoon, and Zabini searching remote jungles for invisible creatures, Draco had been roped into babysitting.

“Were they horrid?” Hermione asked with a grimace. Draco shook his head and pulled himself upright.

 “No more than usual.” He replied grinning, his tousled hair flopped over into his eyes.

“By the time James and Hugo fell asleep, the girls were crawling in with them. Rose says she can’t sleep without her brother. Lily wanted to sleep next to her and Cassie didn’t want to be left out.” Hermione’s face softened at the mention of the smallest girl.

“Did they include her? She’s so shy, but she really does want to be a part of their little group.” The youngest of the children, Cassiopeia was a replica of her father. While James and Lily resembled their parents and Hugo and Rose had both inherited the Weasley locks, Cassie looked the most like her parentage. The petite Malfoy had curious grey eyes and white blonde ringlets. Hermione had a soft spot for the toddler. Draco tried unsuccessfully to hide a grin.

“She had fun today. I know because she told me fifty times. She even managed to con Potter Jr. into snatching the biscuit jar from the kitchen. Sneaky, that one.” He muttered fondly.

“That’s great.” Hermione smiled tiredly, moving to the opposite end of the couch.

“I’ll have to find a better hiding spot for the biscuits.” She mumbled, leaning back and resting her head on the cushion. When Draco didn’t respond she opened one heavy eyelid to glance over at him. He was mirroring her posture, eyes shut, mouth opened slightly.

“Draco, go sleep in the other bedroom.”

“What?” He mumbled, his nose scrunching up in a yawn.

“Malfoys don’t sleep on couches.” The bookworm replied letting her eyes drift closed.

“You’re right.” Shifting to his feet with a grunt, he held a hand out to her. “Come on.” Half asleep already, she took his offering and allowed him to pull her to her feet and against him. Sighing, she leaned into his embrace, resting her forehead against his chest.

“You look beautiful, by the way.” Draco whispered into her hair. “Not that you don’t always look beautiful.” Hermione grinned against his shirt.

“You are too charming, but thank you. Now were you intending to find an empty bed or do you intend to spend the night in the living room?”

“Malfoys do not sleep in living rooms.”

“Well, this one will if her husband doesn’t continue down the hall.” Draco smiled to himself. He may put up a fuss but they both knew that he would sleep anywhere as long as it was next to her.

Draco Malfoy, reformed death eater, Slytherin Prince, and closet chocolate addict, couldn’t be happier. He had his wife in his arms, their daughter asleep in their bed, and the Malfoy name attached to each of them showing the world that they were his and he theirs.  
Only the best for a Malfoy and he knew it couldn’t get better than this.


	2. A Matching Set

"To conjure a patronus you must focus your happiest thoughts."

He tried. He really did. He thought of his mother's smile, so rare but genuine.

Nothing.

He thought of receiving his first potions set. He had been happy then, but he'd also saw the way that his mother had went with out a winter coat that year.

Nothing.

He thought of how smug he had been when he had corrected a school textbook. Even the masters of the subject had gotten something wrong. But smug was not exactly happy.

Again nothing.

No sharp spark or smoke like wisp of magic emerged from the end of his wand. Nothing.

Glancing around the room discreetly, he saw the antlered form of Potter's patronus. Beside him, Black the Bloodtraitor, as Lucius has taken to calling him, also had a mangy blue figure padding around his table. Of course they would have no trouble in casting this particular charm. The prats.

A glorious laugh pulled his glare away. Lily had he head thrown back in a way that made her hair cascade towards the ground. Her eyes were shut and her cheeks were bright with blush at the expense of an appalled looking Remus Lupin sharing her desk. To the right of a smokey wolf form stood a doe. Blue and so vivid it was almost solid. Lily's patronus.

It didn't surprise him that it matched that idiot Potter's. He didn't even really care, he was to caught up in the way the charms soft magic glow lit up her face. He missed her. He regretted the nasty word that had slipped out of his mouth. He knew he was in the wrong and he knew he would have to live with it. Live with it, he could, as long as she was happy. And she was happy.

He watched her, with her head tossed back, cheeks flushed, bubbling laughter. It reminded him of days before Hogwarts, before Potter, before he had even known that horrible word, before talk of war. She had been happy then and only a fool would think that she wasn't happy now. She was and that was all he needed.

So caught up in his thought, he didn't notice the silent tendril of blue that flowed from his wand or the form taking shape at his side. Nor did he notice the vibrant red head across the class studying him. Lily looked on as the airy replica of her own charm materialized and grazed against the Slytherin's robed arm.

He had done it. Not only had he cast a difficult spell, word-less, none the less, but the charm had taken the shape of a doe. Same as hers. A matching set, she heard her sister sneer in her head.

"The two of you are just alike. A matching set. Freaks, the both of you." She had squealed. Lily had cried and somehow he had managed to jinx a vine into tripping Petunia's retreating figure, making her laugh through her tears. Her heart ached. She missed him, no matter the vile word he had used for her. They had been great friends once, and he had tried to apologize. She had never seen him look so low as he did now, lips tight, eyes tired and surrounded my dark circles.

A loud crash jerked her attention to a one Sirius Black laying upended on the floor, laughing manically. Risking another glance at the Slytherin tables, she decided then, with the charm long disappeared, that she wanted him to be happy. She would do everything she could to make Severus Snape happy again. Nothing would stand in her way.  
Nothing.


	3. Save Me

Now.

The bit of parchment fell from his pale shaking fingers at the same moment the cell door was blasted from its hold. He didn’t hesitate. He ran. His heart was pounding in his ears. So loud that he briefly worried that his drums might burst.

The halls were eerily empty but he could hear muffled shouts and bangs nearby. He didn’t dare slow. His bare feet slapped loudly on the stone floor of the manor. The manor that he had once called home but he now was desperately trying to escape. He was, quite literally, running for his life.

Two doors down a cloaked figure stepped out, blocking his path. A sickening moment passed, the figure raised his wand, pointed it directly at his chest. A dark purple light shot past Draco’s side, scorching the dirty ripped rag that was once a shirt. The Death Eater crumpled, swiftly turning into a simmering pile of ash. The heavy thudding of a metal boot against stone barely registered to the former Slytherin’s shock and exhaustion addled mind. A thick hand clamped down on his bone-thin shoulder and a whirling eye and hard face stepped into view.

Run.

Mad-Eye’s mouth made the word, however no sound accompanied it. Draco stood cemented; staring wide eyed at what had once been Gregory Goyle. It was an odd sort of irony that Greg had used that same curse just days ago on a captive Theodore Nott when he had refused to participate in one of Draco’s daily beatings. After everything, it was hard to picture either boy as they had been before this. Housemates turned warriors, one deflecting to the light, the other relishing in the dark.

“GO!”

Moody gave him a harsh shove, Draco stumbled at the force before convincing his feet to move. Just a few more meters and he could reach the antique vase that hid his portkey to safety. He passed a crack door, light spilling into the hall. His parents stood back to back against order members. His father was shooting curses at a thin red haired Weasley. His mother, however, was facing the unwavering tip of her sister’s wand.

Andromeda’s hand was steady and her face hard. She would show no mercy. Narcissa had watched her husband be tortured, stood by as Sirius was cursed into the veil, and had taken Nymphadora’s life with the metamorphmagus’ own wand. No, she would not hesitate. As the sisters raised voices joined the roar of others, Draco ran. He shattered the vase and gripped the gold locket tightly.

In an instant he crashed to his knees. Sharp debris from the forest floor dug into his skin. He didn’t care. He was out.

She had done it. She had sent her Order and saved him. She had told him that she would.

In the dungeons, between the bouts of unconsciousness, when the hunger and pain would leak back in, he guiltily admitted, he had doubted her words. She had done it, though. The storm brewing overhead couldn’t even dampen the overwhelming relief he felt at that moment.

The clouds cracked open with a loud clap. Freezing droplets splashed against his closed eyelids, its chill grounding his very soul. Freedom. He was free. Draco tipped his face up to meet the glow of the moon. It had been months since he had seen the sky. He took deep breaths relishing in the clean crisp smell of fresh rain. A swift wind diluted the scent with another.

Vanilla.

Maybe a hint of honey.

Draco didn’t even need to open his eyes to know who stood before him, her soft fingers tracing his skin, searching for damage. Hermione. He relished in her scent, her touch, and her warmth when she launched herself at him, gripping at his soaked locks. He crushed her to his chest, burying his head in the crook of her neck. Her hair curtaining him off from the storm.

She had done it. She had gotten him out.

Months of torture, solitude, and starvation, it was all worth it. Feeling her soft curves fit against his hard angles, it was definitely worth it.

She was worth it. She was his freedom.


End file.
